


Pontmercying

by spacestationtrustfund



Series: Marius & Courfeyrac (& Cosette) [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Pontmercying, but that would require being far more cultured than I am, so I suppose we could also call this Law School Escapades, which my autocorrect thinks is 'pontificating'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/spacestationtrustfund
Summary: “I am fairly certain that ‘Pontmercying’ is not a word,” said Bossuet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a ridiculous little idea I wrote as a minific [here.](http://spacestationtrustfund.com/post/155704185721/mochi-jupe-jaune-lexiconallie-a-r%C3%A9agi-%C3%A0-votre)

Nearly a month had transpired before Marius ventured back to the café Musain, and only at the persistent urgings of Courfeyrac, who insisted that Les Amis de l’ABC would be more than delighted to receive him. Marius, nearly sickened at the thought of more humiliation and the harsh words which would surely expedite his expulsion from the _Société_ itself, refused as politely as he could for as long as he could, until Courfeyrac – who entertained many unwilling individuals, both to the cause and to more private manners – was able to win him over with a gentle smile and promise of friendship.

Nevertheless, his stomach had become a riot of anxious nausea by the time he stepped into the café, Courfeyrac’s hand resting upon his elbow as though Marius were the latest _grisette_ with whom Courfeyrac was promenading; the back room was a separate country, one where the simplicities of Marius’s political beliefs were cast aside in favour of more radical statements, statements concerning republicanism and revolution and rebellion.

Marius, whose mind and sensibilities had only recently undergone a sort of internal period of riotous doubt and upheaval themselves, was hardly keen to seek out yet another overthrowing of the _status quo_.

Courfeyrac did not press him to interact with the others, and in fact spent most of the meeting seated languidly upon a chair beside Marius, sharing with Bossuet and Grantaire a bottle of a substance whose ingredients Marius did not wish to discover further. It was only when the impromptu meeting had concluded and the others were gathering their belongings to go, Combeferre and Enjolras conversing quietly in the corner with furtive, hushed voices, did Courfeyrac rise and offer Marius his arm.

They returned the next week, and this time Marius felt slightly less as though he were imposing. “It is possible,” Courfeyrac told him lightly, “to share friendship without having to share every political view. I for one disagree with Enjolras rather frequently.”

“Yes,” said Marius, feeling rather glum; “yes, I am aware, but in your instance the disagreements are superficial and almost superfluous, whereas in my case he considers my entire existence to be both superficial and superfluous.”

“I am certain that he does not,” Courfeyrac reassured him, but Marius refused to be persuaded.

And then there were the others, who seemed to be little more than silhouettes, characters cut from a striking but indecipherable cloth. If such cloth had been woven in ’93, it had been taken from the loom in ’30, and was now being repaired. If one was to take the words spoken by Enjolras with even a dash of sincerity, the cloth would be sewn into the revolution and draped across the whole of Paris like a flag.

Marius still felt out of place, a dropped stitch in a room full of shuttles and needles, and it was not until a while later that he felt he could finally consider himself to be friendly enough with the _Société_ to call himself their brother.

He had passed a lucrative evening in the Jardin du Luxembourg, attempting to maintain any eye contact with the elusive girl in a sort of _quid pro quo_ that left him nearly breathless, and it had not been until the sun had nearly retreated entirely behind the neatly trimmed trees that he remembered he had arranged to have dinner with Courfeyrac _chez_ _Rousseau_ , and that the time had been nearly an hour ago.

Embarrassed, humiliated, and terribly flustered, Marius gathered his hat and walked stiffly to the restaurant. He passed the Odéon and saw no Courfeyrac; he passed the Gare and saw no Courfeyrac; he passed the Théâtre by the Porte-St-Martin and saw no Courfeyrac. This was a grave travesty, and Marius could think of nothing more to do but to go to the Café Musain and hope that Courfeyrac would somehow be able to forgive his egregious shortcomings.

 There was a kind of stern blush upon his face as he entered the café, eyes fixed upon nothing in particular, chin high, and hat in hand. Courfeyrac was lounging easily in a chair at the table, conversing with Combeferre about some matters which Marius did not understand. Each word that reached him seemed to him to be nothing more than meaningless noise.

“The Bonapartist has stooped to attend the fireside grumblings of the common demographics!” exclaimed Grantaire, causing Marius to flush and drop his eyes to the floor. “Come, have a drink with us; a friend who arrives late is a friend indeed – indeed, and I say so sincerely, for one must always be especially forgiving of those faults which one personally understands. There is no lateness, my friend, which does not come along with a splendid story. Let it be known.”

“I – I am afraid I have little of importance to tell,” Marius stammered, avoiding allowing his gaze to fall on Courfeyrac, “I had an engagement, which I, foolishly, missed, then I came here. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, we have all gotten distracted at some point or another – even Enjolras,” said Courfeyrac kindly, pulling out the chair next to him so that Marius could take a seat. “Although in his case he was meant to be visiting the stone-cutters down by the Quai, and ended up on the other side of Paris, muttering to himself about justice and liberty and a certain fan-maker’s talented hands.”

Bahorel whooped and tipped his chair back so that it balanced dangerously on two legs. “No worries, my friends, we have all been there. Some pretty girl gets you distracted, and you find yourself mentally in another world, and physically far from where you intended to go. Your feet betray you. Was it a woman, Marius?”

Marius stammered out something about honour and sensibility.

“Ah, what he means to say is, _mind your own business_ ,” said Joly knowingly, tapping his nose with the tip of his cane. “He will not tell us, surely we cannot guess, and so therefore he has simply – to our knowledge – passed his time in occupying himself somehow.”

“He has passed his time Pontmercying,” said Grantaire decisively.

“I am fairly certain that ‘Pontmercying’ is not a word,” said Bossuet.

“It is, I have studied such things, I would know! Pontmercy – a noun, chiefly, but a verb second,” says Grantaire, with an absent-minded wave of his hand in Marius’s general direction, “one that must be conjugated, naturally, as all such forms of speech are wont to be –  _to Pontmercy_ , in the infinitive;  _I Pontmercy_ , first person singular,  _he she it Pontmercies_ , third person singular, as the Greeks would say, or second depending on your motives, demonstrating the usual way of changing the standard  _y_  ending into the  _ie_. Such forms are common in this language, given the rules it has adopted from older versions of French – one might call this the newest edition,  _nihil nove sub sole_ , or  _super sole_  as one does, although the sun himself might not deign to be ruled thus. Now, taking our verb friend as intransitive – chiefly a compliment, of course, given the company you keep” – and he raised his glass to Marius, in acknowledgement – “one cannot  _Pontmercy a thing_ , and one must always be  _pontmercying_. Ah! it is a sad fate indeed, to be locked thus in a perpetual state of Pontmercy. I amend you, Monsieur, and commend you similarly. My deepest, most sincere, apologies.”

“Ah, but there must then be other forms of conjugating ourselves,” says Courfeyrac, leaning forwards eagerly. “How does one Combeferre? Can one possibly Joly? How would one Enjolras?”

“Enjolras is not to be done, in any such fashion,” scoffs Grantaire, “but yes, the rest will suffice – one can  _Combeferre_ , which loses its final  _e_  when it becomes a gerund; thus,  _Comberferring._  Or perhaps the words must be assumed to follow the same rules as other words, in which case one would be  _Combeferrying_. However, this is a flawed reasoning, given that the verb  _to Combeferre_  is originally lacking the  _y_. Albeit there is a decent quantity of the Greek.”

“You are assuming that such words would follow the natural rules of conjugation – my friend, when have any of us been known to follow rules?”

Grantaire shrugs. “When it benefits, man must obey. For precisely this reason one cannot conjugate Enjolras unless he wishes to be conjugated. He defies the conjugal. Now, one  _can_  however  _Joly_ , although one would rarely  _Joly_  without also  _Bossueting_ , and perhaps on a particularly rich day, one might even  _Bahorel_. I myself have seen workers who  _Feuilly_ , amidst leaves of paper, and such is the foliage of factories. During the weekends one might be caught  _Prouvairing_ , which is naturally a spirited and Romantic activity. I myself would never be caught at such an occupation, or any occupation, given that organised law is the devil’s handiwork. And yet men might be observed, men who happen to  _Courfeyrac_ , which is to say I might catch one with my mistress, or at least one of them, not to put myself forwards, –  _to Courfeyrac_ , that is, the  _beauté de diable_  of the mind. I challenge you, Monsieur, to take such a task seriously.”

“I am always serious in my partakings, unlike others,” says Courfeyrac lightly, and pats Marius affectionately on the shoulder. 

Bossuet laughed, delighted. “If I am _Bossueting_ , could I possibly _Joly_?”

“I would imagine no other who could convince Joly to be done in such a way, except for possibly the elusive lady with the eyes of a _tireuse_ ,” said Grantaire, with a leer in the direction of Bossuet. “But it must be reciprocal, mind you.”

“And I, for one, can _Bahorel_ ,” mused Bahorel. “But how would one go about _Bahorelling_?”

“Oh, I expect one would go about tearing down posters and stirring up trouble; don’t ask me, I know nothing on the subject, I have learned nothing more than that which can be learned by common sense and some general knowledge of the world. Monsieurs, one must figure out for oneself how one would do such a thing. The way you would _Bahorel_ is likely different from the way that I would _Bahorel_ , and likewise different from the way another man would _Bahorel_ , and so on. _To Bahorel_ is an ever-changing verb, mutable in its very mutability.”

“I would prefer it voiceless,” said Bahorel ponderingly. “Very well, then, I shall apply myself to the task of learning how to _Bahorel_ , although I don’t suppose I would have an innate ability to do such, seeing as it’s me who’s doing it. Perhaps I could teach a class – never take one, of course, for that would be too like the Académie.”

“Naturally,” said Grantaire.

Courfeyrac leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped lazily about Marius’s wrist to prevent him from toppling over. “In all your discussion of making friends of verbs – or, verbs of friends, one might say – you have neglected to mention yourself.”

Grantaire laughed. “One does not need to be redundant, _de_ Courfeyrac,” he said, almost harshly; “there already exists a word for making bad decisions.”

“The point – the original point still stands,” said Courfeyrac, and tightened his hold on Marius’s wrist. “My friend, you have Pontmercied, and I forgive you for forgetting our engagement; however, next time, I would prefer it if you were to write a note of some sort, explaining your Pontmercying. _Dear Monsieur Courfeyrac, I regret to inform you that I have once again Pontmercied_. Something along such lines will do, what do you say?”

Marius could tell that Courfeyrac was merely teasing him, but his face still felt hot and flushed. “I will do my best,” he said.

“It will be appreciated. And now – now we can enjoy ourselves, and celebrate your newly _verbal_ state. Verboid, perchance, although _that_ is no word I have ever encountered, either in speech or at the dreaded Académie. Tell me, my friend, how does it feel to be a part of speech?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](http://spacestationtrustfund.tumblr.com)
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> ETA: pun explanation!
> 
> Grantaire plays on the double meaning of 'conjugate', of course, and the Feuilly puns are relatively simple: 'feuille' is the French word for leaf, but could also be used to mean a sheet of paper, and 'feuillage' is the French word for foliage. The joke about Y/Greek is a bit more complex: in French the letter Y is pronounced like 'ee-grek', which sounds kind of like the French word for 'Greek'. And of course there's the making friends of verbs/verbs of friends, which is of course a pun on Amis.


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